Listening To The Rain
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: "Marry me, Spence," he whispered, searching for an answer in her eyes. "Nothing would make me happier than to know that we have a lifetime of nights like this. Nights when you remind me how amazing you are, over and over again. The simple things like how beautiful you look in my clothes, and how much fun it is to kick your ass at Scrabble." - Based on a Tumblr prompt.


_**Prompt:** Spencer and Toby telling their parents they're getting married._

_**A/N:** It's cheesy and cliche and totally not my usual material. I hope you like it anyway!_

* * *

**LISTENING TO THE RAIN**

Lying here with you  
Listening to the rain  
Smiling just to see the smile upon your face  
These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive  
These are the moments I'll remember all my life  
I found all I've waited for  
And I could not ask for more  
Looking in your eyes  
Seeing all I need  
Everything you are is everything to me  
These are the moments  
I know heaven must exist  
These are the moments I know all I need is this  
I have all I've waited for  
And I could not ask for more

_"Could Not Ask For More" - Edwin McCain_

* * *

"I can't believe it's still raining," Spencer sighed, drawing back the curtain with a frown. What little moonlight was visible through the vindictive storm clouds managed to peek through, just enough to backlight the shadows of moisture clinging to the glass and project onto the planes of her face like torrents of spectral tears. She slumped dejectedly against the wall as she continued to watch the spoils of Mother Nature's sabotage, running a hand through her tangled locks of wet hair. "Some romantic weekend."

Toby chuckled a bit, leaning back against the headboard of the bed to better survey the view. The blue button-down shirt he had discarded hours ago hung over her thin frame like a gown, skimming the tops of her thighs and providing prelude to long, shapely legs that went on for miles. She had only bothered with a few of the buttons, which caused the collar to droop down and reveal a single bare shoulder. The best part was that she did not even seem to notice its betrayal of her modesty, much less the man across the room marveling at every inch of her skin.

Truth be told, he had intended on a much more elaborate schedule of events. He had been unable to get the time off during the week to visit her for their _actual_ three-year anniversary, and she had been swamped with mid-semester exams that kept her virtually confined to the library anyway. Making up for lost time a few days later would simply have to suffice, about which Toby had very few complaints.

However, she had clearly had her heart set on the Five Star meal and Broadway production they'd had planned before the street outside the hotel was closed down for flooding. They'd been stranded for almost twenty-four hours straight and she appeared to be going a bit stir crazy.

But in his opinion, there were much worse ways to spend a weekend.

"The most important part is that we're spending it together," he murmured softly, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips. "It's your turn, babe."

She turned back, as if shaken from a daze, and hiked the loose collar back into place.

Damn.

"My turn, huh?" she teased in sing-song, grinning excitedly and taking a running leap onto the foot of the bed. The board jostled a bit at her zealous cannonball, and Toby feared that the pieces spelling his victory would go sailing to the floor.

"Amazing that the only thing that can get you to come back to bed is a little friendly competition," he chided playfully, though the smile on his face contradicted his complaint. "Let's see what you have, Miss Hastings."

She paused for a minute, chewing pensively on her thumbnail as she thought her next move through.

"Ah ha," she declared, reaching for the first tile. "M – E – T – R – I – C. Double word score." She clicked the pen back into place triumphantly, taking agonizing care in writing her score for him to see. "I'm about to beat you. You better catch up, Cavanaugh."

He rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a good-natured smirk, and leaned forward to take a closer look at the game board. At least she hadn't noticed that he'd cheated while she was at the window, trading in useless tiles for ones that suited him better.

"Thanks, Spence. I've been waiting for an 'M'."

Her impish grin disappeared in record time, and he had to remind himself not to laugh.

"Naturally," she said, an air of child-like disappointment seeping into her tone. "Somehow I always give you exactly what you need."

"Hey," he said lightly as he began to set his tiles in the right order. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

She wasn't paying attention to him anymore, though. She was watching his word being spelled out across the board, confusion crinkling her brow. "Toby, that's not a word."

"Sure it is," he protested gently. "Say it out loud."

"'_Marim'?_" she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "No, it's definitely not a real word. Here, I'll prove it to you." She was reaching for the dictionary on the nightstand before he could blink, and he'd be lying if he said the sight of his shirt riding up her backside wasn't the sweetest sight known to man.

"No, you're saying it wrong," he corrected. "Here – maybe this will help."

He separated the last two tiles from the first five.

She sighed impatiently. "You can't combine two words just to get more poi – "

He could practically hear her voice get lodged in her throat as she brought her gaze back to the board, the dictionary falling unceremoniously to the floor.

The quiet settled heavily as she processed his play, so poignant he could have heard a pin drop.

"'Marry me'," she murmured. "That – that says 'marry me'."

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sound of his heart beating in his ears. "Yeah. It does."

It seemed like a lifetime before she could tear her eyes away to look back at him, and he saw that they were swimming beneath pools of moisture. With a single, shaking hand, he placed the final touch at the end of the word – the diamond ring that his father had proposed to his mother with.

"That gives me a triple word score," he mumbled jokingly, unable to prevent the nervous grin from tugging at his lips.

She was still staring at him in disbelief, utterly paralyzed by the question presented to her.

"Marry me, Spence," he whispered, searching for an answer in her eyes. "Nothing would make me happier than to know that we have a lifetime of nights like this. Nights when you remind me how amazing you are, over and over again. The simple things like how beautiful you look in my clothes, and how much fun it is to kick your ass at Scrabble."

She failed to stifle a sob in time, her hand enveloping her mouth a moment too late. When she spoke, her voice broke beneath the pressure of emotion. "It is _not _a total ass-kicking."

He laughed in spite of himself, only distantly aware that he, too, had trails of moisture cascading down his cheeks. He swiped the palm of his hand quickly beneath both eyes in an effort to dry his face, but the tears continued to seep through.

"Spencer, do you remember that afternoon in your room three years ago? When you told me I was your safe place to land?"

She nodded tearfully, pursing her lips tightly to stay the emotion of the recollection.

"When you first told me that, I couldn't wrap my head around it. I just kept thinking, 'what the hell does this amazing girl see in me?' I didn't feel like I deserved you then, and I don't feel like I deserve you now."

A strangled sound of protest escaped from the back of her throat, her head shaking so fervently that wild curls danced around her face as she reached out to clasp his hand.

"Toby – "

"Let me finish," he murmured quietly, giving her fingers a squeeze. "The thing is, I never got that conversation out of my head. And all I've wanted to do for the past three years is live up to that title – be the person that you can trust and rely on to keep you safe. And that's what I want to do for the rest of my life. Because you're my safe place to land too, Spence. You've given me a sense of peace that I never thought was possible. And you do it so effortlessly. And I want to spend every day repaying you for that."

A shaky smile spread across her features, so bizarre in accompaniment to the tears streaming down her face. But she had never been more beautiful.

"Okay," he began uncertainly. "_Now_ I'm done."

She released a tearful laugh that got mixed in with her sobs, and the combined noise simultaneously made his heart both soar and break at the same time.

He laughed, too, though he could hear the nerves that lingered beneath its surface, causing it to sound strained. He could feel the perspiration collecting on his backside with every tick of the clock beside him, malevolently counting the seconds of her hesitation.

"Your turn to say something now," he pleaded jokingly. "I'm dying out here."

"I just wanted to make sure I heard everything," she said quietly, her voice getting caught on the emotions in her throat as she admired the ring in her hand. "I didn't want to miss a second of that beautiful speech."

She slid the diamond onto the proper finger, and for a moment they were both mesmerized by its sense of belonging on her hand. She wiped at her eyes once more, and every second that she didn't respond added layers of doubt in his heart. He was terrified to even so much as blink, as if that split second would cause him to miss her answer.

And then she brought her eyes back to his, and he saw immeasurable amounts of affection swimming harmoniously in their mocha depths. She loved him with all of her heart, and she proved it over and over again with each passing day. She was part of his family – and in all the ways that count, she was the most important person _in_ that family. And once you looked past Melissa's pretention, or Veronica's detachment, or Peter's apathy, he knew that he had always been the same for her.

That was her answer, in and of itself. And he found himself wondering why he had ever questioned it.

"Of course I'll marry you."

And with that, she launched herself across the bed and into his arms, sending the Scrabble board careening haphazardly to the floor.

"Spencer," he chided laughingly, "we weren't done with the game!"

"That's okay," she mumbled huskily into his neck, her lips finding the precise spot at the juncture of his jaw and earlobe that rendered him utterly incapacitated. "I'm pretty sure you won this round."

* * *

"I'm telling you. We should be doing this in a public place. Preferably one with a strict 'No Yelling' policy."

"It's going to be fine," he chuckled, squeezing her hand in his. "I promise."

A single frown managed to melt her delicate features into a childlike pout, her eyes probing his for any sense of hesitancy.

"That's easy for you to say," she grumbled. "Your dad was thrilled when you told him you were proposing."

"Yeah, and it was also the best conversation we've had since my mom died," he insisted, pausing to face her. Her cynical expression faltered only in slight to make way for the sympathetic affection in her eyes, a silent apology in their depths. He ran his hands up and down her dispirited shoulders, offering an encouraging smile. "His enthusiasm really surprised me, and I think your parents might, too."

She sighed heavily. "Are you sure we can't just wait until the next time I'm home from school?"

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the suggestion. "Trick question. You'll just avoid Rosewood for as long as humanly possible. Nice try, though."

He could have sworn he heard a stubborn 'harrumph' rumble somewhere in her throat.

"C'mon, Spence, it's been seven weeks. But the good thing is that it's almost Christmas. Tis the season. Everyone's in a good mood this time of year."

"Not _my_ parents," she argued. "When I was six my dad told me that Santa was knee-deep in alimony suits and that getting on his bad side was a terrible idea. I spent the holidays walking on eggshells because I was so afraid of Attorney General Santa's wrath. The only 'tis the season' sentiments my parents ever had were longer hours and extra bonuses for the holiday custody battles."

Toby winced. "God, your parents are intense."

"Like I said!" she chirped, spinning on her heels and heading back down the porch, dragging him by the hand behind her. "Another time!"

He planted his feet firmly on the ground, surprised when her brute strength still managed to pull him a fair yard or so.

"Spencer," he chided lightly.

She turned to him, a look of utter exasperation on her face. Then, at last, she threw her free hand up in defeat, a frustrated groan erupting from her lungs. "Fine. Have it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"We've handled worse," Toby said gently, beginning to walk her back to the door. "If we can get through 'A,' we can get through anything."

She inhaled deeply, releasing the breath shakily as she twisted the knob and pushed the door inward.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

Two hours. That's how long they'd been there. They had talked about everything from the new upholstery on the armchair to the price inflation of postage stamps. And they still had yet to come even _remotely_ close to announcing their engagement.

Toby had learned more than he ever cared to know about the grueling task of dissecting a deposition, and he could practically feel his eyes glazing over with disinterest. Spencer, however, feigned perfect fascination, her gaze wide with faux wonder, her chin perched on her hand like she was hanging on her father's every word.

Anything to avoid the task at hand, naturally.

He knew that she was scared. He couldn't blame her, in a lot of ways. Getting accepted to UPenn had been virtually the only saving grace for her relationship between herself and her parents, having ultimately wiped her slate of past transgressions clean. Everything about the way they now communicated with her was different, from the nuances of their tone to the sudden merit of her opinions. It was like she had gone from a teenager to an adult overnight, and with that transition came an abrupt modicum of respect that she had never had before.

Like she had finally reached the same level as Melissa.

She didn't want to lose that. And he knew that wasn't that she was ashamed of her decision to spend the rest of her life with him. Far from it. She had simply come to realize that her family worked best on a strict "need-to-know" basis, and that conflating too many emotional entanglements would only result in unnecessary drama. Why rock the boat if it's on course? Why test the limits of something that only just achieved perfect working order?

He understood. And he sympathized. But he also knew that if she didn't tell them soon, she would be under the constant duress of 'what if' scenarios. She would continue to assume the worst and imagine a much more negative scenario than the one that was likely to occur.

If there was one thing that Spencer Hastings was bad at, it was being optimistic about basic human nature.

So when he squeezed her hand midway through her father's rant about how bright Jessica DiLaurentis's Christmas lights were, he tried to convey all of his empathy to her, all at once. She looked at him briefly, bravery in her eyes, before sighing heavily and clearing her throat.

"Toby and I are engaged."

There was a beat of horrifically uncomfortable silence, during with both Peter and Veronica stared at them in disbelief. Both were frozen in ridiculously humorous positions, Peter half-sitting and half-standing on the kitchen stool, his journey to retrieve more coffee having been unceremoniously interrupted. Veronica was standing in the open doorway of the refrigerator, cream in one hand and a stick of butter in the other.

As if on cue, the racks inside the toaster bounced back into place with a gentle 'clang,' announcing that their breakfast was ready.

"Are you pregnant?" Veronica breathed, a certain degree of disapproval leaking into her tone.

"What? No!" Spencer declared, aghast. "We just – we – "

He could sense that she had used up the majority of her courage to spit out the announcement in the first place, and was now struggling to find the right words to continue the conversation. He came to her aid.

"I love your daughter with all of my heart," he said quietly. "And I want to share that with our family and friends. I want to give her everything she deserves."

Spencer peeked at him from the corners of her eyes, squeezing his hand in quiet affection.

The silence was so thick you could have heard a pin drop. Toby gulped hard under their scrutinizing stares, keeping his head held high.

And then, Peter's mouth opened in slight, as if he were getting ready to speak.

"You're both to finish school first," he began, turning to Spencer. "At least your Bachelor's."

Spencer nodded fervently. "Of course."

"Yes, sir," Toby agreed.

Peter turned to him, his stone face breaking into a hesitant grin.

"None of that 'sir' stuff," he said quietly. "I'm going to be your father-in-law soon, after all."

It was as though a giant weight had been lifted from his heart. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath, but when he finally exhaled, he felt almost dizzy with relief.

"Oh, Spencer, have you started looking at dresses?" Veronica cooed suddenly, the refrigerator door slamming behind her, forgotten.

"N-no, not yet," Spencer responded, the hesitation evident in her tone.

"I still have all of the bridal magazines from when we were planning Melissa's wedding," she began brusquely, taking Spencer by the hand and leading her towards the den. "Some of them may be outdated, but you can start getting an idea of what style you want. It's so important to start looking early, because all of the other decorations revolve around the bride and her choice in wedding gown. Oh, darling, you should really consider doing a ruche waist – it would flatter your figure so beautifully…"

She trailed off as she rounded the corner, and Spencer, looking torn between excitement and apology, turned back to Toby one last time, a tiny smile playing at her lips.

She was relieved, too. And she may not know it quite yet, but he could see in her eyes just how much her parents' approval meant to her.

"Well, Toby, I must admit," Peter started, rummaging through one of the junk drawers beneath the television, "when my daughter first started dating you, I was concerned. Not just for her reputation – but also for her safety."

Toby nodded resolutely, a distant stinging present in his gut. He recalled with perfect clarity the storm clouds that had surrounded him back then, no matter where he went. It had been a dark time – a time in his life that was saved solely by the woman he had just committed his life to.

"But you surprised us. All of us." Peter seemed to find what he'd been looking for, closing the drawer and spinning around. "It turned out that her safety was just as much of a priority for you as it was for us, and you've managed to make her happier than we've ever seen her before."

Toby offered a sheepish smile, vaguely aware of the color rising in his cheeks.

Peter extended his hand, presenting him with an envelope. In the patriarch's professional scrawl was Toby's name, the ink slightly faded with age.

The younger accepted it with some hesitation, pulling open the flap to unearth two Cuban cigars. He turned back to Peter, and the questions must have been evident in his eyes, for Mr. Hastings chuckled.

"I set these aside about a year and a half ago. When Spencer came clean about everything that happened and told us all about how far you'd gone to protect her. I knew that day that you'd be the one to take care of her for the rest of her life."

A foreign lump had formed in Toby's throat, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion. He offered a short nod, unsure of what else he could do to properly convey his gratitude.

"Thank you, sir."

"I said no more 'sir'," Peter chastised lightly, taking one of the cigars for himself. "Now remember, they're probably going to taste pretty stale since they've been sitting around so long."

It didn't matter. The staler the better, in fact. Because it represented more than that. It represented the length of time that Peter Hastings had instilled his faith in Toby. The length of time that he had been confident in his ability to take care of his youngest daughter, despite the fact that Toby did not come from wealth, or power, or reverence. That he had been able to prove himself to them, even in the absence of all the qualities they usually valued – the kinds of qualities that had deemed Wren a suitable candidate for Melissa's affections.

It meant that for a year and a half, Mr. Hastings had not only expected Toby to become part of the family, but had actively looked _forward_ to it.

And for that reason alone, the cigar could not possibly taste any better, even if it had been made yesterday.

Peter clapped a hand on Toby's shoulder, a proud smile grazing his lips.

"Now let's go out back and light these before the girls notice we're gone."

**END**


End file.
